


Grand Theft Hawkstrider

by starsoverhead



Series: Tanglewood [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsoverhead/pseuds/starsoverhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liberating an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Theft Hawkstrider

**Author's Note:**

> In other words, Tanglewood reached level 40 (back before riding came at level 20) and didn't have the reputation for a different mount.

The Orc had looked at him strangely when he'd asked for the old, dusty pack from his personal cache. He knew it hadn't been touched since he'd put it there, but just now, he needed it. For probably the last time, he needed it.

Walking through Orgrimmar, Thorn wondered just why he was doing this, except for some misguided need for revenge. But no, that was precisely it. Misguided revenge. Damned if it wouldn't be satisfying, though.

He trudged back to the waterfall that fed what he thought of as the fishing pool, hopefully away from prying eyes, before he began to undress. His plan required he be bathed, and even if he wouldn't be perfectly clean by the time he arrived, he'd look (and smell, he realised as he pulled off the leathers) better. Briarclaw flopped onto her side and stretched out, sniffing at the pack that waited at the waterside.

"You leave that alone," he told her from where he knelt in the water, scrubbing at his skin with a rough cloth and what little soap he could afford. "You're not even goin' with me." He rubbed sand and soap through his hair, wincing at the sting. Damn the thread of Goblins that'd got the information to his ear - it'd been Smeed Scrabblescrew who'd finally told him. Word had come to him from Ratchet, to Ratchet from Booty Bay, and to Booty Bay from a place Thorn remembered too well. The Goblins had an ear up near Zul Aman. The ear had heard that someone else had heard a few names dropped, and his had been one of them. They'd found a certain something of his, Smeed had told him. And the Goblins, being the polite creatures that they were, had thought he'd want the chance to get it back.

"Maybe this is why I kept all'a this, huh, Briar-girl?" he asked rhetorically as he dried his body and wrung his hair. Loose as it was, he pulled the metal comb through time and again. It was the first time his hair had been in anything approaching order in years.

When he was finished dressing, he looked at his reflection in the water and didn't recognize what he saw. His hair was clean and hung loose down his back. He wore the uniform of metallics and teal. The bow over one shoulder was that of a Farstrider, and the sword across his back was one he hadn't laid hand on since he'd served.

Once, he'd been proud of this. Now, it felt wrong. Even the cat's fur wasn't laying smooth as she looked up at him.

He packed his other leathers, having cleaned them along with himself, and settled the pack in the corner of a rock and building. "You stay here," he told Briarclaw, pointing at the pack. "You guard this pack. Those stripes of yours... They'd recognize you in a heartbeat." With an exhalation, he reached forward and gave the cat's ears a gentle tug, and her nose a light tap. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he whispered. "You stay."

Before he was even on the Zeppelin to Undercity, he missed her. He felt naked walking without either of his pets at his side, without the leathers he was now used to, with his hair hanging heavy to his waist. It was all the more reason to keep to himself during the flight, hiding belowdecks while the crew went about their work above. No one paid any attention to him. No one even seemed to notice him. He was torn between that being a relief or being troubling. He hadn't seen so many Blood Elves in Ranger uniform since he'd been in Kalimdor, but then, the crew was made up of Goblins. That was the likely explanation for it all.

There were no second glances as he walked through the Ruins, and he was grateful to see the place empty, for all it left him alone facing the Orb of Translocation. On the other end of that orb was Silvermoon City, where he'd been manhandled, berated, humiliated. This was going to take willpower.

Thorn squared his shoulders. If he could handle an Orc orphan for days, he could walk through Silvermoon City. So he touched the orb.

\---

Walk casual, he told himself as he stepped from the platform into the Spire he never thought he'd see again. He stood like a soldier - back straight, chin lifted, making himself look more prideful than he was as he descended the ramp and then felt the eyes of the rows of guards on him as he walked between. Just whose bright idea had it been to put the orb there, where everyone had to pass scrutiny just to walk through the rest of the city?

Only once he was in Murder Row did he dare let himself really breathe. His steps gained a bit more speed. He wanted out of this city that hadn't changed. Wanted out of this place. And he wanted what was his. The uniform, here, wasn't so unusual. The one benefit of being one of a race that so seldom changed - neither did the clothes. Only once he was in the Walk of Elders did he worry. He hung to one side of the street as there, at the very end, was someone whose face hung in his memory like a monstrous Troll mask. Gatewatcher Aendor and his blasted crew. He lifted a hand and drew some of his hair over his shoulder. He hung it in a way he hoped was artful to obscure his face at his right side. So long as Aendor didn't notice, all would be well.

Step by step. Pace by pace. He approached Aendor's post, approached the guards. He went toward the Shepherd's Gate. And then, for all he felt it too easy, he was past them all.

"The hell," he thought. "Just like that?"

So it seemed as he came out into sunlight once more. He paused to take a breath. His goal wasn't far from here. With a glance to either side, he nodded to himself and began to run. Focusing, he took on the speed of a cheetah - and he felt his few remaining morals slip away. He'd had enough taken from him here. It was time to do a bit of repayment. The road was short underfoot, for all the air was empty of the sound of paws or wings at his side. The silence, however, was welcome as he let the cheetah speed fall away, his instincts changing to those of the beast, taking a place to hide behind a wooded fencerow. There, not far away, was a woman holding the reins of a hawkstrider.

And there, only a bit farther, was what he had come for. Feathers still bright, the old Hawkstrider didn't look his age - and given the way he snapped at the woman's hand when she came near, Skybeak still had all of his old attitude. He smirked seeing it, and took it as his cue to step forward.

He'd never known the woman's name and never would. But it didn't stop him from drawing an arrow from the quiver and taking careful aim as he drew up behind her. She stiffened at the sound of the wood of his bow creaking.

"Hello there," Thorn murmured, just barely loud enough to be heard. "I don't want to be rough, you understand... but I need that bird there. It would do you well to untie his reins -- don't turn around." He forestalled the movement he knew would come. "Just untie him - yes, that's right, the blue one."

"He's got a rotten temper," she told him with a shaky voice.

"In case you ain't noticed, lady, so do I."

\---

The move was rusty, but successful. He slung the arrow back into his quiver, the bow over his shoulder, then slung himself up onto the hastily-fastened saddle that sat on the bird's back. No sooner had he settled himself than the woman turned and screamed, "Guards!"

"Dammit, lady," he bit, but with a kick to the bird's side, the Hawkstrider took off joyfully across the hill. "S'right," he whispered, leaning close to the bird's head. "You 'member me, don'cha boy?"

The bird squawked happily, tossing its head. Tanglewood couldn't help but laugh too, until he felt the arrow whiz past his ear.

"Dammit!" he shouted, and ducked as he glanced behind him. There were two guards trotting behind him on Hawkstriders of their own. "C'mon, boy," he muttered, "you can outrun 'em." Or he hoped the aging bird could. The guards had younger mounts, more agile as they bounced over rocks and branches - reminding Tanglewood just how ridiculous these birds looked when they jumped.

Just then, a flaming arrow struck the ground before him. He half-choked before pulling Skybeak into his own jump to get past it. A guard on a bat was flying overhead. "What the hell?!" he yelled. "It's just a bird!"

Skybeak leaned into his run, putting on speed as he skirted Tenders and lynxes. Around them, the land started to grow dark. As terrible a change as it was, this land was at least land Thorn was used to. He took to the road then, giving Skybeak easier terrain. He zipped through a settlement just before the flying guard landed, and continued south. He'd worked with the Goblins for some time now, and the Goblins had an ear at Zul Aman.

"Go on, Beaky," he whispered, urging him faster. "Go on. The sooner we get there, the better. We can get outta this damn place."

Light was starting to come back to the land - it'd been quite a run, but he no longer saw a hint of red and gold behind him. They probably figured he'd gone to the Plaguelands, but he knew he'd never be there. At least alive.

Through the pass, up the hill, he saw the goblin tending both gryphon and wyvern. That kind of post would give that Goblin the kind of ears that got him into this mess. Behind one of the Troll structures, he dismounted and gave the bird's beak a good rubbing. "It's been a long time," he said quietly, smiling. For now, he was home free. Skybeak was his again, and the bird seemed to be agreeing with what he'd done, even if he did seem a little winded. He laughed as he was headbutted and had his hair nipped at.

"Good bird." He grinned. Home free. Tearing a strip off the uniform shirt, he took it off and tossed it aside, along with the sword and bow. He had no use for them anymore and he had weapons that fit his hands even better waiting for him back in Orgrimmar. As he used the strip to tie his hair back into the usual ponytail, he heard the clatter of armor and glanced around the building.

Gold and red.

Well damn.

"C'mere, bird," he murmured as the guards began shouting -

"We seek a man who may have ridden here," one yelled to be heard over the din, "on a blue Hawkstrider in the uniform of a ranger."

"We don't keep up with yer rangers!" the little Goblin squawked. "We get all kinds up here. Yer lookin' for a ranger, look yerselves!"

He owed that Goblin.

Holding tight to the stone that he knew would get him home, he began weaving the magic, an arm looped around Skybeak. Home, he thought as hard as he could.

And just as a blur of red and gold found his discarded weapons and shirt, looked up to find him surrounded with glowing green, he grinned and gave a rude gesture before he disappeared.

A world away in Desolace, he fell back onto the floor and laughed as the bird looked around in confusion. Sikewa looked at both of the newest inhabitants of her inn with barely shielded disbelief. "Well," she said. "Welcome back, Tanglewood."

"Thanks, Miss Sikewa," he grinned up at her.

"Something came for you while you were gone."

"...Huh?" He sat up, confused. But then, from the upper room, Briarclaw padded down, his pack held in her teeth. She dropped it at his side before headbutting the familiar bird's leg. It made Thorn smile.

"Now can you tell me," she started, "just what it is going on here?"

"Jus' a little family reunion."


End file.
